


Cake By The Ocean

by knightheartcd



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: LITERALLY, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), please take it easy on me i am usually a poet, some suggestive scenes but not smutty, starts right after the fall, updates slowly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightheartcd/pseuds/knightheartcd
Summary: The Fall had been flight: he had wrapped himself around Hannibal like wings, had pushed him off of the cliff, and plunged into the ocean on half of a breath.Saturated with blood, the water churned crimson in the Chesapeake Bay, anchored by two lovers.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 16





	Cake By The Ocean

The Fall had been _flight_ : he had wrapped himself around Hannibal like wings, had pushed him off of the cliff, and plunged into the ocean on half of a breath. Saturated with blood, the water churned crimson in the Chesapeake Bay, anchored by two lovers.

That beautiful crimson soon washed off as Will dragged his lover to shore. Hannibal's mouth was a slack line. The fight had been pushed out of him, and Will knew the reason had been him. 

They'd won, and the kill was fresh. It felt good. So good.

But his lover was hurt. 

* * *

"Work with me, babe," he growls, struggling to take Lecter from the door to a soft surface. The man is a fallen god, collapsed in Will's arms, and he is the only man fortunate and unfortunate enough to see Hannibal this way. 

That handsome silver head lulls sickeningly as Will struggles to get a good enough grip. The walk from the shore up to the house had been an even more difficult occasion, with Hannibal getting caught on rocks. His shoes would drag and snag, and poor Will. 

The slipperiest serial killer since the Zodiac killer felt little more than a dead, _is he breathing_ sack of flesh. 

It makes Will scoff. He tugs him forward, wincing at the horrible color of a seafoam carpet AND couch, but then his muscles give a mild scream. Before he loses his lover and does more damage than he should, Will acts.

He summons the last bit of his strength to flip the man down onto his side, right onto the couch. Hannibal doesn't move. All that moves is the slow rise and fall of his chest, the only indicator that he's even alive.

* * *

Saving a man’s life is hard work. Saving Hannibal’s is like taking playdough scissors and using them in an operating room. He hadn’t expected the bullet wound to be so deep, despite the fact it nearly mirrored the same wound that Hannibal gave him so long ago. He throws them down, looking at the scissors in abject disgust. The fabric, stained and not wanting to cut because of the copious blood and water that they held, gets ripped with Will’s shaking hands.

He’d just used them to kill someone. How can he expect them to save a life?

“I want you to know,” he says, “that when you wake up, I’m either punching you or kissing you. You’ll have to guess which.”

* * *

He doesn’t want to leave him. But the bleeding is too much, and the presence of the bullet is just one that will cause complications. He’ll have to use tweezers to get it out ( if it’s a whole cartridge and hasn’t fragmented ), and he’ll have to cauterize the wound. 

Will practically flies around the house, looking for anything that could help. Thankfully, there is a nice long kitchen knife that will heat nicely over a gas stove, and he does have a pair of tweezers. Perusing the first aid kit rendered some bandages.

He’s not going to die. He won’t let him.

* * *

You and I have begun to blur. Before you and after you.

This is all I have wanted for you, Will.

Is Hannibal… in love with me? _Yes._

If I saw you every day, Will, I would remember this time.

_But do you ache for him?_

. . . Always.

* * *

It takes three days for Hannibal to wake. Three whole days of Will’s pacing, Will’s hurried scrambles to give him broth and water, Will’s lack of good sleep. He slept on the floor, right next to Hannibal, because the thought of being away from him for a second made him shiver.

When Hannibal wakes, Will is laying right next to him, curly locks next to his hand. Will’s face down, snoring, nose buried in one of those atrocious designer pillows. He knows if he were to turn the man over, even in rest, there would be bags under his eyes. And yet, he can’t stop himself from resting his hand amidst that wonderful field of dark curls. Hannibal starts to tenderly stroke his fingers through, and after a single beat of mischief, gives a yank.

“Ow,” Will groans, but there’s another part to that. A hitched breath that Hannibal notices and stores away. A moment, and then the man is face to face with his lover’s fiery blue eyes. The light shines in through one of the beautiful, glass doors--- and genuine tears blossom in Hannibal’s eyes.

“You are an angel,” Hannibal breathes, “ _Will."_

How could a man rip open his chest and take out his heart, just with a single glance?

And oh, how the sun makes a halo behind Will’s head. There is nothing he could draw that could compare to the sight he sees with his eyes. Though exhausted, Will Graham looks like a god made flesh.

“You’re the devil,” comes his voice, calloused fingers moving to grip either side of Hannibal’s face, “ _Hannibal._ ”

* * *

Their first kiss feels like falling more than flight. Will has crammed himself so heartily against Hannibal that their mouths feel complete, feel like one. And though they both breathe through their noses, it feels as if all oxygen has been stolen from their lungs and replaced with the dizzy haze of love. Of seeing another as they really are, and loving them for that.

They only stop when Hannibal pulls Will’s hair.

“Do that again,” says Will, breathless, fingers splaying along the curves of his lover’s shoulders.

Being a gentleman, Hannibal indulges him, pulling so cruelly in a measured manner that it causes Will to grind his hips forward. Since when were they pressed up like this? Since when had clothes started tumbling off?

Will is like a live wire, and a smirk only plays at the edges of Hannibal’s lips as he continues to touch the poor man in ways that they had both only dreamed of prior. Tugs, nails biting into flesh, teeth scraping across skin.

Soon enough, Will is thrown over one of the arms of the couch, and he’s seeing stars, because of how delicate and wonderful Hannibal’s hips move in sync with his. It shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. It hurts, and they hadn’t even prepped--- they’d been too desperate, too scared that the moment would flutter away.

And then Hannibal would wake in his cell, and Will would wake beside Molly . . . and it would be a dream.

But this is real. 

Hannibal’s hands lay over Will’s. He laces their fingers together.

“A _š tave myliu_ ,” is whispered hot into the shell of Graham’s ear, and all Will can do is moan a half-broken and heavily Louisiana - Cajun accented, “Oh, _fuck_!”

That pleases Hannibal so much that Will is absolutely ruined with thrusts.

* * *

Will lays on Hannibal’s chest, fingers smoothing along the skin there. His head is cradled at the crux of his lover’s neck, and all he can do is draw little patterns. 

He’s sore, that’s for sure, but he hasn’t been this content in a while.

“What now?” he says, pressing a ginger kiss to Hannibal’s throat, “That we’ve killed Dolarhyde? What do we do?”

Dark eyes peer at the top of Will’s head. He almost purses his lips. Almost. But then his fingers run through those soft curls, and Will gives a pleasant sigh.

“We disappear. Simple as that, Will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be continued, depending on how I feel. Thank you to all those lovely people in the Homoerotic Cannibalism Discord, especially Bin! Thank you.
> 
> I have other cakes ( chapters ) planned.
> 
> Can you take a guess at what Red Velvet stands for?


End file.
